


This Time Around (without you loving me)

by Frisk15



Series: This Time Around [1]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Hope Springs Eternal, M/M, Major Character Death(s), Sad!Danno, Soul Selling, Soulmates, Suicide, There's crossroads in the afterlife as well?, Wandering through the afterlife, depressed!Steve, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 15:38:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6526093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frisk15/pseuds/Frisk15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lover's quarrel between Steve and Danny goes horribly wrong, and Danny finds himself trapped in some form of After Life. He helplessly watches as a depressed Steve thwarts all attempts of help and finally commits the ultimate, unthinkable act. Danny will do anything for a second chance, anything to prevent Steve from spiralling into despair. But when someone offers that chance to him, will he be willing to accept the terms?<br/>-----<br/>This is my first (very dark) attempt to start writing again, in the hope I will be able one day to finish those stories which I've left hanging unended. There's no guarantee that anything else will be coming soon, but this had to be written. For those of you who know me, you will know that this story is a cathartic release.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Broken

**Author's Note:**

> *TRIGGER WARNINGS* This includes very graphic descriptions of (the aftermath of) a car accident, a death, a downward spiral towards depression as well as a fairly explicit (aftermath of) a suicide. Please do not read if this triggers you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The Journey of reinvention is one of raw emotions."  
> \- David Rudbarg -

* * *

 

The first thing he notices is the silence.

It's not the peaceful quiet that signals another day has come to an end, the gentle muting of sounds due to the world having gone to sleep. If that were the case, there would still be the occasional sleepy chirp of a bird, the high buzzing clicks of bats hunting, the sound of a sudden rush of wind gently stirring the leaves on the trees.

No, this is something else. This is a silence which has wrapped itself around him like a heavy blanket, smothering him, dulling his senses. It undulates around and over him, moves through him, rendering his limbs into useless appendages, making them feel like they're made of lead, anchoring him to the ground.

This quiet ... it's an absence of Life.

 

* * *

 

When he focuses on drawing in air, it flows into him like ice water, shocks through his system and freezes him from his very core, spreading out and numbing him. His eyes flutter rapidly, and he manages to slowly turn on his feet, trying to peer through the haze surrounding him. A flickering orange light draws his attention, and he's drawn towards it, like a moth towards a flame, unaware of moving his feet yet somehow closing the distance.

The flames undulate through the thick mist, and even though he is now quite close, there is no warmth emanating from them. No heat. It takes all his willpower to focus on the source of the flames, and as he peers through the pervading fog he starts to make out a shape, a mass of what appears to be twisted metal, a form which looks to have been folded over and into itself several times.

Moving closer he suddenly makes out a shape within the metal mass, a still figure barely visible among the smoke and flames, composed of stark whites and glaring reds. He recognizes a leg, horribly twisted. An arm, flung half outside of what he now vaguely realizes to be a car wreck, hand outstretched as if at the final moment it was trying to grab onto something, anything ...

When his eyes finally move further to look into the interior of the car, when his gaze dares to seek out the face which is turned towards him, the icy numbness within him encases his heart, tightening, feeling like a million icy shards pierce the organ which feels strangely quiet within his chest. His mouth falls open in a silent scream to mirror that of the man staring back at him, blue eyes widened as if they're confronted with the greatest horror ever seen.

Eyes which have stared back at him from a bathroom mirror almost every day of his life, and are now filmed over in death.

He screams.


	2. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "In the end, do not regret that which was left undone.  
> Instead, celebrate that which has been done."
> 
> -Anonymous-

* * *

 

Time is a fluid but unstable thing in this plane he now wanders on.

It seems to stop and freeze for what seems like days, even weeks, then stutter and hurriedly move on, skipping weeks, sometimes apparently months or possibly even years. He has no control over where he goes, over what he sees. And what he does see fills him with an agony that surpasses any pain of every wound that has ever been inflicted on him. It does not compare to the hot burn of a bullet passing through his flesh, nor to the sharp snapping sensation of a broken bone. It does not even measure up to that once, nearly forgotten gut-ripping feeling of seeing his daughter being taken from him, of seeing a small, tear stained face turning back towards him and sobbing his name.

This ... this is far worse.

 

* * *

 

Once, in a moment which must have been just days or even mere hours after he passes from the world, he finds himself hovering next to the shaking form of a man, shoulders trembling, hands clenched into fists. A steady, broken whisper streams from the man's lips.

"Danny, oh God, _Danno_ ..."

He tries to place a hand on one of those shoulders, tries to comfort the man, but his fingers pass right through the form just inches away from him, leaving a tingling sensation in his finger tips. A steady pounding, the sound becoming stronger and more intense, draws his attention, as does a voice. A voice he is familiar with but can't seem to place.

"Steve, come on Steve! Open the door. _Steve!_ "

He watches as the form slowly rises, sees the clenched hands angrily scrubbing a face of which he instinctively knows every feature, distantly remembers running his fingers over, learning every line, every frown, every sharp angled plane ... watches as the normally green-blue eyes, now red-rimmed, grey and hazy with pain behind fluttering, long eye lashes are squeezed tight, tears still leaking from the corners.

He aches, suffers with the man he once held in his arms, feels his agony as if it were his own, coursing through his body and settling in his bones, as if his whole being is filled to the point of overflowing with the ashes of grief.

"Steve ..." The name tumbles unbidden from his lips, and as he reaches out his hand yet again he can see the skin on the man's neck puckering up as if he was suddenly hit by a cold gust of wind. The tear-filled eyes snap up to where he stands, and for one heart stopping moment they are looking right at him, seeing him as he hovers between the different realms of existence.

"Danny?"

His name is whispered in disbelief, the lips that once covered his own forming the word in reverence. His hand touches the face in front of him, and the eyes close as a grimace of pain flows over the man's face.

"You're not real!" The words are breathed out sharply, as if the man is trying to yank himself back into reality, away from that plane where only ghosts reside. "You're not real ..." The agony settles more deeply on his features, and the next instant a powerful fist rams into the tiles on the walls, causing several of them to crack and shatter.

A door slams open, the lock breaking under a forceful kick, and the next instant two tanned and sinewy arms enfold the man and hold him.

"Jesus, brah ... what are you _doing_ to yourself?" The oriental looking man - Chin Ho, Danny suddenly remembers - gently takes a broken and bloodied fist, then proceeds to grab a towel and drench it with cold water. "Steve, you have to stop _punishing_ yourself." The wet towel is carefully wrapped around the injured hand, dark eyes peering intently at the man hunched over next to the sink. "You know this is not your fault, right? That Danny ... Danny's death was an accident."

The man freezes, becoming still. The next moment he starts violently shaking his head.

"No no no! It _is_. It _is_ my fault! I should've called him, I should've made sure he'd gotten home safe because he was _upset_ , I ..." He crumbles to the floor, covering his head, the wet towel unheedingly dripping water down his shirt. "We fought, Chin. We _fought_ , and I never got the chance ... I never got to tell him ..." His breath hitches on the words, and the oriental man slides down the wall next to him.

"People fight, Steve, people fight _all the time_." The arms pull the other man from the wall, pull him flush against a strong chest. The voice, when it comes again, is softer. "And he knew, OK brah? Danny _knew_ you loved him. Even if you fought, he knew you loved him."

Danny hovers in front of them, feeling himself shake. "I do, Steve. I did and I _do_. I know you love ... loved me."

 

* * *

 

And with those words comes a memory, of rushing down a dark road, anger causing his foot to step harder on the accelerator, causing him to take risks he normally would avoid, normally would leave to his daredevil partner. This time, however, he doesn't think, doesn't mentally take into account all the things that can go wrong, and when he encounters a sharp curve he releases the accelerator just a second too late, his foot finds the brake pedal just a moment after he should have, and as the car starts sliding and the edge of the road comes rushing up and he feels the wheels of the car losing grip, the only thoughts in his mind are of Steve, and then there is pain, and then agony, and the heat of a fire, and as he lies dying the shape of the man he loves looms up before him and he reaches out, trying to hold on to him, trying to prevent the inevitable slide into a dark and eternal nothingness that has started, and he whispers "I'm sorry!" and a final, broken "I love you, Steve ..."

And then everything had stopped for one heart-breaking moment, only to start up again when he found himself standing in the middle of the road.

 

* * *

 

The sobbing of the man on the floor drags him back to the moment and, still shaking, he repeats his dying words.

"I love you, Steve!" He sobs. "I love you so much!"

Then everything disappears.


	3. Abandonment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "They say that abandonment is a wound that never heals."  
> \- Mario Balotelli -

* * *

 

The next time this fluid journey through what must be a future of which he'll never be a part comes to a halt again, he finds himself in a corner of the living room of their house. Or at least, of what he knows must be their living room.

There are dirty dishes stacked everywhere, clothes thrown haphazardly over the couch and on the floor. And far too many empty bottles. The sole occupant of the house is currently busy emptying yet another bottle, staring ahead into empty space, bare legs propped up onto the table. He only wears some dirty boardshorts, and Danny can see how painfully thin the man has become. There are still corded muscles overlying the bony frame, but he's become lean to the point of being unhealthy; his ribs nearly sticking out, his cheekbones too prominent in a gaunt face.

It hurts to see him like this.

A soft sound at the door causes both their heads to whip around, and for a heart stopping moment all Danny can do is watch as his daughter - his _monkey_ \- carefully opens the door and steps into the house.

"Uncle Steve?"

A grunt from the man in the recliner acknowledges the fact that he heard her, and she slowly makes her way towards him. It's like watching somebody trying to come near a skittish horse, or a rabid dog; every move slow and calculated, intent on not spooking the creature. It breaks Danny's heart to see his child so cautiously approaching the one other person she had always trusted, had always felt totally free and safe with. Instead of them having drawn even closer after the accident, it seems as if they have been drifting apart, separated by a chasm.

The man sighs. "What do you want, kid?"

There is no ill will in those words, no anger directed at the child. There is, however, a distinct lack of empathy, of engagement coming through, and Danny sees his child's steps falter as if an invisible barrier has been thrown up. A rush of emotions quickly runs over her features, a mixture of grief, pain and then anger. The cause for the grief and pain is obvious, but the anger, that quick dirty look she just aimed at the man in the chair, that is something new to Danny.

"Uncle Steve..." she starts again, then stops for a second as she draws in a deep breath. "Mom thinks it's better if I didn't come here for a while, because you've been ..." She stops speaking again, earning her a raised eyebrow from the man facing her. One of her small hands sweeps around, indicating the clothes, the dishes, the bottles. The movement is followed by green-blue eyes, a small frown appearing on the gaunt face. "You haven't been well, after Daddy ... after Danno died." The girl swallows, as if those last words might break her resolve.

The man takes a thoughtful sip of his beer, then nods. "Yeah, OK."

And Danny feels like screaming. Does, in fact move to hover only inches away from the man sitting dejectedly in the chair, clutching his bottle like it will save him from drowning, and yells at him.

"Fight, Steve! _Fight_ for her, you dumb shit! Don't do this to yourself, don't do this to _her!_ "

But his words are nothing but empty air, nothing but hollow noises that can never be heard, will never translate into sound again. They don't reach the man. As Danny turns to look at his daughter, he sees a single tear slipping from the corner of one eye, followed by that look of anger again. And now he understands, knows why she is angry. The one person who might help her with the memories of her father, who might help her secure the emotions and images she's left with and anchor them in her mind, is unable to stand beside her. _Unwilling_ to guide her through what must be the most horrendous experience she's had in her short life.

"I _hate_ you!"

She screams at him, and Danny knows that this, if nothing else, _this_ will wake him up. Knows with certainty these words will tear him from whatever pit of despair he has so willingly lowered himself into and force him to take a new breath, force him to start facing the world again. He waits for him to wake up, sees his daughter is waiting for a reaction as well.

What comes takes both their breaths away.

"I know, kid. I do too."

 

* * *

 

And as his daughter runs, crying, from the house, Danny feels a huge wave of despair wash over him as the scene slowly fades away.


	4. Downward spiral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A downward spiral should never be considered to be a joyride."  
> \- Anonymous -

* * *

 

Danny's trips back to the real world, that world of which he once was also part of, become more haphazard; there is less substance and cohesion to the scenes he finds himself flitting in and out of. Sometimes he knows they are a logical follow-up of previous scenes; other times they make no sense whatsoever.

All of them, though, show the steady descent of the man he so completely loves into a place from which he knows there's no return. And no matter how hard he tries to yell at him, no matter how much he aches and grieves for what is becoming the hollowed-out shell of that once proud and fierce partner of his, there's no stopping the steady downward spiral.

 

* * *

 

There are several scenes in which his former team mates become injured due to unnecessary risk-taking by their once thoughtful leader.

One of those involves the near-death of Kono, who is shot several times after Steve fails to provide her with back-up. An enraged Chin Ho flies at his leader when he finally returns from hospital, nearly foaming at the mouth. His hands wrap themselves around the top straps of the body armor Steve is still wearing, yanking the man to his feet as Chin Ho screams at him.

"You son of a _bitch!_   She counted on you to back her up! What is _wrong_ with you, McGarrett?!"

Danny feels his eyes fill up with tears as he watches his partner's face go through a scala of emotions, only to come up in the end with a blank stare. When his former lover speaks, he is shocked by the lackluster timbre of his voice, appalled by the sheer absence of empathy.

"Take it up with the Governor, Chin. I'm just doing my job."  
  
Chin Ho stares at him for a moment and then pushes him back down in his chair. "I will do just that, McGarrett. I _am_  going to take it up with the Governor." He backs away, shaking his head in disgust. "Because whatever you think you're doing, brah, it's definitely _not_ your job!"

As Chin Ho stalks out of HQ, Danny moves closer to the man sitting dejectedly behind his desk. He notices the new, deep grooves lining his face, the downward turn of the once so loving and generous lips, and he feels something break inside of him.

"Don't do this, Steve. Don't push them all away," he begs, trying to touch the face of the man he still loves with a passion. "Please don't destroy everything you have left."

But he doesn't listen.

 

* * *

 

The office is obviously that of the Governor, and Danny wonders why he's there. He smiles fondly at the figure of the man bent over the desk, shuffling through papers. Then both of them look up as the door opens and two people walk in.

"Chin Ho Kelly. Kono Kalakaua. To what do I owe this pleasure?" He gestures for them to sit down, meanwhile scrutinizing the faces of his two guests; they look very serious. Danny can feel a sense of dread building within his chest.

After several moments, Chin Ho scrapes his throat. "It's about Five-Oh, Governor." His voice falters, and one of Kono's hands comes to rest on his arm, patting it lightly. "It's ... this situation? This can't be allowed to continue." He stares down into his lap, Kono's hand all the while continuing to pat his arm.

The Governor remains quiet for a moment, then stands up and turns towards the wall. After a moment he turns around again and faces his visitors. When he speaks, his voice is low and nearly inaudible. "I take it that with 'this situation', you mean McGarrett?" Chin and Kono both nod, and the Governor sighs. "I was afraid you might."

Now Kono speaks up, tears in her eyes. "We've tried everything, Governor. Ever since Danny ..." she swallows, and this time it's Chin who gently takes her hand in an encouragement to continue. "Ever since Danny died, Steve has withdrawn into himself. But not only that, he is taking crazy risks. And ..." She falters, unable to go on.

"The risks are now involving us as well, Governor. We think it's only a matter of time before another incident like that with Kono happens again." Chin Ho looks at his cousin, then back at the Governor, who's staring at them with a deep frown between his eyes. "We think Steve may be actually aiming for suicide by means of a perp, Governor."

The Governor shakes his head, as if he's not sure he heard the words correctly. "What? ... Run that by me again, Chin Ho."

Chin takes another deep breath. "We think Steve is purposely trying to get killed on the job, Governor. He's actively going for a form of suicide by taking unnecessary risks."

The Governor rubs a hand over his face, then straightens up.

"OK, OK. I heard rumors, but I understand things are much more serious than I thought." He presses a button on the intercom. "Get McGarrett for me, and tell him to come over A.S.A.P." When he releases the button, he looks at the two Five-Oh members sitting across from him. "Thank you for informing me, Officers Kelly and Kalakaua. I will keep you informed on what measures I am going to take."

The two cousins look at each other and then nod, standing up. Just as they're about to leave the Governor addresses Chin Ho. "Oh and Officer Kelly? I want you to start thinking about your willingness to head Five-Oh. I can tell you now already that the position will become available very soon."

Chin Ho stares at the Governor while Kono takes in a shocked breath. Then Chin nods. "I will, Governor. Thank you."

A surge of sadness courses through Danny as the scene slowly fades away. 

 

* * *

 

In another moment, he finds himself standing on a street, and he feels his heart lift as he sees his daughter walking along with what appear to be several of her school friends. She looks like she has grown, has become older, although he is uncertain how many years - if any - have passed. Suddenly she stops walking, and he follows her gaze as it shoots across the street, coming to rest on the hunched over figure of a man shuffling out of a store and down the sidewalk towards a large old car. He's carrying a brown paper bag, and even from this distance Danny can hear the clanking sounds of bottles.

"Grace," asks one of her friends, "isn't that your father's old partner from Five-Oh?" Danny watches as his daughter's eyes fill with unshed tears, her mouth turning down in pain. "Yeah, that's my un... that's Steve McGarrett." The other girls watch with her as the man across the street gets into the car and then drives off. "Didn't he used to be the head of Five-Oh? You know, before Chin Ho Kelly?" Another girl immediately adds "And didn't you used to go to his place all the time when your father was still alive?"

Danny sees his daughter swallow, then shake her head as if to clear it. "Yeah, he used to be. And no, I haven't been to his place in a long while now. I don't go there. Not anymore." The girls stare after the car, then continue their walk down the sidewalk, once more laughing and joking.

Danny is left standing by himself, then slowly feels himself fading away again.

And on some deep, instinctual level, he knows he's not the only one fading.


	5. Breaking point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Once you've reached your breaking point, too much has already broken to ever completely fix again."  
> \- Anonymous -

* * *

 

He feels it, senses the moment when the end finally does come. It's like a tidal wave, pulling him under, battering over him until he feels like he has been pulled along a million pieces of razor sharp coral and then finally has been thrown upon a barren shore. He screams and closes his eyes, howling out his agony, wailing for what has now been forever lost to him.

When he opens his eyes again he finds him there, slumped against the head board of the bed in which they had made so many good memories, where they had professed their undying love for each other. The bed where sunlight would wake him, where deep green-blue eyes would stare at him lovingly, where morning scruff would softly scrape against his face and gently smiling lips would tell him "Morning, sleepyhead."

Those lips are now slack, a small trickle of blood escaping them from one corner of the open mouth. The force of the gun has caused him to slide sideways, leaving behind a trail of blood and tissue, the unseeing eyes half open and fixed on the gun still in his hand, as if he was somehow surprised at his own choice of the manner of his death. His uniform lies at the foot of the bed, yet he is only dressed in a pair of boxers, as if at the last moment he deemed himself unworthy of wearing the symbol of his devotion to his country.

Danny moans, then finds himself on top of the bed, next to the man he has watched slip ever deeper and ever faster towards a place from which none ever return. His hand hovers over the once beautiful and now fatally damaged head, and to his surprise and utter horror he finds that now, after having wanted to do so for so long yet never having been able to, he can touch.

Sobbing, his hand gently strokes over the already cold face, can actually feel the bones which lie so close underneath the skin, sense directly how much weight the man has shed in the months - years? - since he was forced to leave him. There is much more grey in the hair, discernible among the blood, and deep grooves along the mouth which once whispered endearments into his ears.

"Steve, no ... _Steve!_ "

He tries lifting his hand, almost recoiling in horror when it falls back onto the bed, the sound of the limb falling into a pool of blood etching itself into his ear drums.

"God, no. Why? Steve, _why?!_ "

Wailing, he curls himself around the body on the bed, his own form wracked by sobs. He stays there, memories from their lives together running through his mind, trying to hold on to all that was positive. Their love. Their laughter. Their time spent together and with his daughter. Spent with their friends.

All gone now, just like he himself has been gone. Just like Steve is now.

All is gone.

 

* * *

 

It takes a week before someone discovers something is wrong. Almost a full week before the once so popular head of Five-Oh is missed. By then Danny has been chased off the bed by the increasing number of flies circling around - and much to Danny's disgust, inside - the body. Vaguely surprised at how long he stays around this time, he watches what was left of his once handsome partner turn into a pathologist's wet dream, all the while waiting for a sign that Steve has crossed over to the same realm Danny is in. Waiting for the moment they can finally, truly be together again.

The moment never comes.

What does is a small army of policemen, spear headed by both Chin Ho Kelly and Max - hey there, _Max!_ \- from Pathology. A quick investigation throws up the immediate conclusion that this is not a homicide, or a burglary gone terribly wrong. The uniform laid out on the bed, as well as Steve's service weapon which they manage to pry from his hand show that this is nothing more or less than a suicide.

"If I may be so bold, Chin Ho Kelly, I must say I am rather surprised." Max stares at what's left of the body on the bed, scrutinizing it as if it were some exotic piece of art. Chin Ho prefers to keep his lunch inside and refuses to look at what was once one of his most trusted partners, one of his _friends_. He knows it will just be a few more minutes before they take the body away, before he can throw open the windows and let in some much needed fresh air.

"What's that, Max? What are you suprised about, brah?"

Max moves around the bed, nearly passing through Danny, who just manages to get out of the way in time.

"Well, judging by the lividity as well as the gestational stages of some of the larvae which have settled inside..." Chin Ho throws up a hand, stopping the enthousiastic report before it really gets underway.

"Max, _please_ brah. This is one situation in which I really don't want, really don't _need_ an extensive description of a body. This is, well, was, after all, _Steve_."

The little pathologist nearly crows, then just pounces on Chin Ho. " _Exactly!_ This was your friend Steve, your former boss. So, how then is it possible for his body to lie undetected in the house for, oh I'd guess, 6 days and 12 hours, give or take?" The eyes behind the glasses stare at him, unblinking, and Chin Ho feels a blush creeping up his face. Danny watches the scene in front of him unfold with growing interest. Yes. Why, _indeed_ , did Steve lie here alone - well, alone safe for Danny - for nearly a week?

When Chin finally answers, his voice sounds like it's coming through pieces of broken glass mixed with small pebbles. It _grates_ , sounding sharp and broken. His eyes, now staring at the body still on the bed, fixed there like he is unable to drag his gaze away, are filling with tears.

"We _tried_ , Max. We tried _so hard_ to help him, but he just wouldn't ... maybe couldn't let us. He kept pushing us away, _every_ one of us. Hell, he even pushed _Gracie_ away, and you know how much he loved that kid."

Max hufs, tapping his lips with an index finger. "So, you are saying that Steve McGarrett here was all alone because that's how he preferred it to be. Huh. Well," he continues, meanwhile motioning to the medical staff to start wrapping the body, "I guess that explains it then. Self inflicted death resulting from self inflicted solitude."

Chin Ho steps out of the way when they finally place the body on top of a stretcher and start rolling it towards the stairs. He stops for just a moment, cocking his head as if he hears something.

"You could've tried harder, Chin. You _should've_ tried harder!" Danny whispers in his ear, and he watches with grim satisfaction as a shudder runs over Chin's body.

Then he starts walking down the stairs, and Danny watches as the house around him disappears.


	6. Soul for sale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When the Devil deals you a hand, always assume the deck has been stacked against you."  
> \- Anonymous -

* * *

 

Danny is stuck.

Stuck in the grey, monochrome realm in which he found himself in the beginning. There are no more time slips, no more trips to the world he once inhabited. No more scenes of his old friends, no more visits with his daughter.

No more _Steve_.

It's as if the death - no, let's call the beast by its name - the _suicide_ of his lover has severed each and all of the tenuous ties he still had with his old life. What comes in its place is a gruesome, ongoing, never ending repetition of the scenes of Steve gliding along that downward spiral, of watching Steve turn into a hollow shell of the man he used to be and, finally, into a fly ridden corpse.

It goes on and on and on, until Danny finds himself stumbling along winding roads and pathways, covered in that grey dust, clutching his head and tearing at his hair.

Yelling, _screaming_ , desperate to stop the ongoing pain, the agony of watching his loved one tear himself apart, watching him waste away until there is nothing left but a body for insects to feast on. Over and over again.

"Anything! Oh please, _anything_ to make this stop!!"

He crumbles down into an incoherent, sobbing mess at the point where the grey roads converge, the point where - no matter which path or road he choses - he knows his agony will start over, will continu until there isn't a sane thought left in his head. His head is resting on the ground, tears pooling beneath him to be swallowed up by the parched, grey dust, trying to catch his breath before he knows he will be compelled to continue his mad dash along the grey roads, haunted by those images which have been burned into his eyes.

Two boots appear into his vision, kicking up the grey dust as they come to rest near his head. Well-worn boots as if belonging to an eternal traveler, the square toes scuffed, the edge of the jeans coming to rest on top of them frayed and bleached.

"Anything?"

The voice sounds like an insane melody, consisting of deep tones and high octaves, like an orchestra gone beserk, assaulting his ears and making his back arch like a violin strung too tight. He wants to keep his eyes turned downwards, wants to keep staring at the grey dust swirling and settling, swirling and settling, but something compels him to look up, forces his eyes to travel along jeans covered legs, skim across a deep black button-down seemingly unaffected by the grey dust, flinch along a strong, pale throat until they finally come to rest upon the mouth which uttered the question.

Blood red full lips curl up into a sneer, and he almost doesn't have the courage to look up even further, yet he doesn't have the courage _not_ to, either.

When his tear filled eyes finally encounter those of the creature - red filled orbs, so not a man, _definitely_ not a man! - standing next to him, all he can utter is a hoarse whisper.

_"Anything ..."_

 

* * *

 

The creature has been standing over Danny for what seems like an eternity, while Danny has hung his head down again; waiting, not knowing exactly for what but anticipating something horrible, something _cruel_ from this entity which obviously calls the grey monochrome realm its home.

What he doesn't expect, however, is the put-upon sigh the creature utters just before offering his hand to Danny.

"Come on, up you get."

Danny ventures to peek up through his dusty eyelashes, and is somewhat stunned to see an almost gentle smile grace the blood red lips.

"We're not getting anywhere with me staring down at you while you grovel in the dust, Danny Williams. So do me a favor and get up."

He accepts the proferred hand, wincing at the dry heat emanating from the strong fingers which grasp his own as he's being pulled back onto his feet. Well, no surprise really; this is, after all, the Devil. A dry chuckle quickly causes him to release the hand, and the previously sensed heat soon dissipates again.

"Not the Devil, Danny. And yes, I can sense your thoughts. It's those which have drawn me here in the first place." The creature - not the Devil but then, what is it? - fakes a shudder. "You're so _loud_. I'm certain every other demon here has heard you."

_Demon?_

"Crossroads demon, Danny." The creature waves its hand around them in an almost perfect circle. "We inhabited that specific aspect of realms - _all_ realms, actually - where roads converge. This is the spot where we, let's say, _deal_ with our ehm, _customers_. A perfect spot for endings and new beginnings. Or choices."

Danny swallows around a large lump which has seemed to settle in his throat, preferring to look at the being's mouth instead of its seemingly bottomless red eyes. "Choices? We get to have _choices_ here?" He feels the red orbs stare at him, unblinking, before a heavy sigh passes those lips.

"Yes, Danny; choices. Choices of how to die. Choices of how to end a life. And choices of how to start a _new_ life. The choice of a new beginning." The voice, still grating and skating along his entire nervous system, falls silent for a moment.

"Although it seems fair to warn you that every beginning also has an _ending_. Choices, after all, do come with consequences, Danny Williams."

He stares at the creature - demon, it's a _demon_ \- in front of him, absentmindedly rubbing his freezing hands together, massaging fingers which no longer seem to be able to retain a spark of heat. Absence of Life obviously means absence of warmth, his mind supplies somewhat distantly, then is interrupted again by the demon's voice.

"I think I already know what choice you would like to make. So correct me if I'm wrong - but then again, I never _am_ wrong - in assuming that your choice would have to do with a New Beginning. So let's see if we can make a _deal,_ Danny Williams. Let's see if we can reach an understanding on how to stop your agony and rewind your life."

Danny scrapes his throat, somewhat anxious to start the 'wheeling & dealing' part of their conversation. Rewinding his life? End the ongoing _horror_ of seeing his loved one suffer and descend into a chams of madness which ultimately forces him to end his own life? Yes, Danny is definitely ready to talk about that.

"I'm not very well versed in the supernatural, so bear with me here. But if you're a ... what did you say? Crossroads demon? Was that it? ... then I take it any transaction means I have to give you something in return for, ehm, _rewinding_ my life, right?" The demon blinks, a rapid movement reminiscent of reptiles. For a second a black membrane covers its eyeballs before the dark red color returns to infuse the orbs.

"Yes."

Danny's fingers seem to have a mind of their own as they stop their ceaseless fidgetting, his non-existent breath catching in a throat parched from lack of life giving fluids. His voice, when it comes, seems to come from a distant. "What ... what would you demand of me? What would I have to give you in order for you to..." he stutters to a halt, trying to swallow. "What do you demand of me to make all this go away, and to send me back to a time where my partner still lives and none of this has happened?"

He watches as the demon cocks its head in an almost dog-like fashion as it contemplates the man standing in front of it, a calculating look on its face, almost as if it's weighing his value. The answer, when it comes, is not as unexpected as he thought it might be.

"Your soul, Danny Williams."

 

* * *

 

Laughter bursts forth from his shriveled lungs, causing a coughing fit. His hands rise up and move through his lank hair before stopping to grip it, tight enough to almost rip it from his head. When the fit has passed, leaving behind the sense of non-existent tears running down his face, his voice barely manages to pass through his constricted throat.

"My soul?! I'm sorry, I thought you implied you could return _Life_ to me; that you'd be able to stop this, to stop him from ... from killing himself. Now how is that possible if you take my very soul? What kind of life would that be, hm? A body without a soul is still a dead body!" He screams. "A dead body can't save the one I love!!"

The black membrane covers the demon's eyes again as it stands quietly looking at him, not speaking. Danny's hands relinquish their grip on his hair, fall down to his sides where his fingers once more start fumbling with the material of his pants. It feels like minutes, hours, centuries pass as the two stand staring at each other, until Danny can stand the silence no longer.

"Well? _Answer_ me! How is that possible?!" he yells at the demon. "What kind of _life_ is there without a _soul_?!"

A slow, almost liquid smile ripples across the demon's face, the upper lip curling back to reveal teeth that have no business looking that sharp. Danny feels a shudder of revulsion course through his body, and the smile becomes wider still, as if the creature senses his aversion and feeds off of it somehow. After another long bout of silence, in which the world must have gone through endless revolutions and lives have begun and ended, the demon speaks.

"There are more ways to take a soul besides just ripping it from a body, Danny Williams. You'll still be paying me for the length of Eternity." A dry, humorless chuckle rises up and escapes the demon's mouth, like dust slung from a dirty carpet. "Or at least, it will _feel_ like Eternity for you."

Danny stares at the being in front of him. He had said "anything". He'd give _anything_ to change this, to alter the outcome of the chain of events which have led him, has led _them_ , to this deep canyon of never-ceasing agony. The events which started with a death, and ended with a death. He said "anything" to prevent this downward spiral of fear, of pain, of final endings. So now he must listen to the terms, and be prepared to meet his end of the bargain.

"What is it you demand in return for all this to be undone?"

Another lengthy pause stretches out between them, between the human and the Crossroads demon. Finally, the demon speaks again.

"Love, Danny. Or more specifically, the love _the two of you_ had."

Shocked, Danny stumbles back a few steps. Give up that one thing, the absence of which has so nearly driven him insane here? Hand over the _one_ aspect of his life that made living bearable, no, that made his life actually  _worth_ living?!

The demon stares at him, then softly speaks to him. "Anything, you said, Danny Williams. You'd give up _anything_ for your loved one not to have to experience such grief, such _pain._ Remember?"

And he does. He remembers, all of it. He sees it, playing in slow motion through his mind again. The grief, the anguish, the suffering ... and he realizes that he's _still_ willing to stop it, to put an end to it. Even if it means he'll never get to love Steve again. But that, it seems, would be too easy, to _compassionate_ for a demon to offer.

"This time, _he_ will not love _you_ , Danny Williams. But _you_ will have memories of your past life; more specifically, of your past _love_. Not all of them, but enough of them. Enough memories that every one of them will cause you to lose a piece of your soul; and every piece of lost soul will be a payment towards your debt to _me_."

So that is how it will be then. He will slowly but surely be turned into the same empty vessel that Steve had become at the end. And when the end comes? He shudders.

The same gentle smile that Danny saw before plays itself out on the full red lips of the demon again. The words that follow, however, seem as far removed from being gentle as demons are capable of compassion. "Don't worry, Danny Williams. You will be able to live a full and long life. By the time you have lost your last piece of soul, you will no longer care about having one."

For just a second, just a moment in time which seems to drag on and on, Danny wants to refuse. Wants to cover his eyes with his hands and continue down the road, screaming, running towards the inevitable madness which lies somewhere at the end of one of the pathways. Wants to curl into himself and die all over again.

But he can't. He can't condemn his loved one to the spiraling descend down into the darkness where he knows the monsters live. And breathe. And feed on souls.

So he nods.

"I accept" he says.

And sells his soul.


	7. Nothing is written in stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "True love stories never have endings."  
> \- Richard Bach -

* * *

 

Detective Danny Williams has a satisfactory life.

It is vastly different from his life in New Jersey, and after just a few short months on what he can only describe as a pineapple infested rock inhabited by strange people with even stranger customs and tastes, his life is thrown into yet another different direction by a grumpy, coarse and emotionally stunted individual who recruits him for his personal task force.

"How is this my _life_?!" he laments from time to time, as he barely manages to evade yet another bullet, or is only just pulled from another certain instant of death. But ocassionally he _does_ remember how this had gotten to be his life. Does remember - although usually in a _very_ vague manner which has him questioning his own sanity - bits and pieces of having dealt with some otherworldly creature. Remembers _something_ about Crossroads ...

It's a life filled with danger, with friendships so strong and cemented that he sometimes wonders how he could have ever lived without them, and never a day passes without some form of heart-stopping excitement. Or annoyance with the man who now calls him partner.

Sometimes ... sometimes he remembers his other life more clearly. Remembers his _love_ more vividly. Sometimes something like a hazy yet intense memory will pop up and superimpose itself over a current situation.

When a large hand clamps on his shoulder to draw his attention to something, or keep him from stepping into a dangerous situation, when a deep voice speaks his name - "Danny!" - with that ever present undertone of irritation, his mind skips to a time which appears to be have been in his past, or might even still be part of a yet to be defined future. His mind will skip and the situation - the _memory -_ will change into one in which the hand grabs onto his bare shoulder, fingers digging deep but not deep enough to cause bruising, holding on to him as the voice comes from near his ear, stuttering his name in a sweet and halting manner - "Da ... Danno!" - before the body hovering over him stills.

And every time such a memory comes, unbidden, as clear as if it happened only yesterday, or is about to happen tomorrow, only to vanish as if never having existed, it leaves him feeling a little more empty, a little more hollow.

A little more dead inside.

 

* * *

 

But then - and how _amazing_ is that! - there are also times when a thoughtful look passes over the face of his partner, a look which seems to question something that remains just out of reach, stays just outside his grasp. Those green-blue eyes will stare into his, a frown between them, his mouth open as if a thought had been on the tip of his tongue and then vaporized into thin air. Long, strong fingers will be clamped around his wrist, halting his motion, stopping him from taking a step which will remove him from his side.

"Danny?"

He will turn back, look into those eyes and smile, putting his heart out for the man to see, placing his love and soul on a silver platter and offering them up just for the chance of having them noticed, of having them _acknowledged_. "Yes Steve?"

Yes, Steve! _Yes!_ I do. We are. We _did_. We _can!_

Only for his partner to frown even deeper, and then shake his head as if to clear it. "It's ... never mind. It's nothing."

And for a moment he will feel _devasted_ all over again, will feel that icy coldness of being _dead_ again. For a moment he will remember those words, spoken in that place where roads leading nowhere converged into a single opportunity of going _somewhere_ , of escaping that realm where the ashes and dust of previous lives were heaped into piles of eternal nothingness.

_"This time, he will not love you."_

But then, what do demons really know of love?

Oh, they know about despair, know about the emptiness the _absence_ of love leaves in its wake. They know all about how to manipulate those who have given up, who have been left an empty vessel, and how to fill that emptiness with darkness and foul promises.

But they don't know about the _real_ strength of love, know _nothing_ about the power which stems from the hope of loving, of being loved again.

And admidst all those theories, all those suppositions and assumptions, those untruths and near-truths and wishful thoughts, there's one thing Danny Williams is certain of, one thing he knows without the _shadow_ of a doubt.

He knows they have time.

Time he has bought by selling his _soul_. And as this time passes, he also knows that those empty places in his soul, those vacant spots created by the memories that pop up every once in a while, only to be ripped from him by the claws of some foul creature which had laid claim to them, are now slowly filling in with something neither he nor the demon he sold his soul to had taken into account.

And that is the  _unshaken_ belief that love _will_ one day come his way again. And the hope that, in the end, he will not be the only one who remembers.

So as he turns around, he catches the hand that slowly slips from his wrist and comes to rest - if only for a second - on his arm; pats it before it is completely withdrawn.

"It's OK, Steve. I'm sure it will come to you."

And as he gazes into those blue-green eyes, sees the uncertainty that flickers in them as the man in front of him struggles to retain hold of _something_ which still seems to be so far out of reach, he feels the hope and love surge up into him, filling more of those empty spaces. And smiles.

"Don't worry, it will be alright."

The man in front of him nods and then turns away, and he feels the strength of his words, of his _conviction_ , the power of his hope course through him once again. And he _knows_ he is right. Knows that _they_ will be alright.

They have time.

 


End file.
